Teach Me How to Swim
by PrincessSmuttButt
Summary: Tetsurou Kuroo, bartender at the Black Cat, and Kenma Kozume, a brilliant independent game designer, have been friends since before they can even remember. When they lose control one night and make what seems to be the biggest mistake of their lives, everything changes. And then tragedy suddenly strikes, and they struggle to navigate the terrifying and beautiful world around them.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! Thanks for clicking on my story, "Teach Me How to Swim."**

 **I'm going to start off by being very clear, because I do not want to trigger anybody or make anybody feel physically uncomfortable. So here are the trigger warnings:**

 **There is explicit rape in this story.**

 **There is discussion of self-harm in this story.**

 **There are suicide attempts in this story.**

 **There is extensive discussion of depression and anxiety issues in this story.**

 **There are explicit sexual descriptions in this story.**

 **Please take care of yourselves.**

 **That being said, this story is a bit special to me. I love Kenma and Kuroo a lot-they are, I think, my favorite ship in Haikyuu (though IwaOi comes a close second) because I feel like they just have such an amazing and passionate dynamic stemming from their childhood friendship. It always seems to me that Kuroo goes out of his way to take care of and protect Kenma.**

 **I also have the idea in my head of Kenma just saying a big "fuck you" to gender roles and being obsessed with dresses and skirts and makeup.**

 **This is not a lighthearted story. There is romance, and there is fluff, and there's a lot of cat...but it's not lighthearted. In fact, it's rather dark and heavy.**

 **That is my warning to you as you (I hope) continue.**

 **The story is finished, and I'll update about every two or three days.**

 **I poured my soul, as always, into every word, and I genuinely hope that you enjoy my story and that, in the end, maybe it can be meaningful to you.**

 **xoxo**

* * *

1

Kuroo

Tetsurou Kuroo checked his watch. It was three AM, and the bar was finally empty. He swiped a towel across the counter, put the chairs up, locked the front door of the Black Cat, and took off his vest. He was tired, glad that it hadn't been a busy night. Sweeping wouldn't be so bad tomorrow. He counted the money in the register, smiled in satisfaction, and went toward the back door, leading to the stairwell up to his flat. Everything was quiet, so his footsteps on the stairs creaked and echoed as loudly as cymbals. He opened the door quietly in case his roommate was sleeping (who was he kidding, his roommate wasn't sleeping), and when he stepped inside he was bathed in total darkness. He let the door click closed. When he was fully inside, he noticed that it wasn't exactly total darkness. In the back room, through a door that was hanging ajar, was a little bright light.

"I'm home," he called, smiling. And, as usual, there was no response. "I'm turning the lights on now."

He turned on the lights. The flat was relatively organized, but there were clothes and some empty food wrappers that he would have to clean before going to bed. The work of his roommate who, unlike Tetsurou, didn't worry so much about the cleanliness of the flat. He took his shoes off, knowing that even though his roommate wasn't responding, he was there, listening to every word, waiting for Tetsurou to pop into the room. Which, after walking across the room, he did. Leaned his arm against the doorway.

And, as always, his roommate and best friend was there. Sitting on the ground, legs curled up to his chest, one hand around a bottle of Coke and another fiddling on the keyboard of a computer. He was wearing an oversized sweatshirt—one might've assumed it was Tetsurou's, but he just had a habit of buying clothes that were three times his size—and short lace shorts, pink knee-high socks. His hair reached just below his shoulders, with black roots and blonde locks. Tucked behind his ears.

"You really should sleep," Tetsurou said with a shake of his head.

"And you should really fix your hair, but here we are," he shrugged. He didn't even look away from the computer screen. It looked to Tetsurou like he was coding.

His name was Kenma Kozume, and he'd been Tetsurou's best friend for years, though he was a year younger. After he'd graduated, he and Tetsurou had moved into this flat together.

"Like you're one to talk about hair upkeep," Tetsurou scoffed.

"Mine looks good."

"Cute as fuck since I dyed it for you."

"Bite me."

"So, what are you doing?"

"Coding."

Tetsurou walked in (it was Kenma's room, so it was ridiculously messy), and plopped down next to him. Their arms pressed together as Tetsurou stretched his legs out.

"New game?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just brainstorming."

As they fell into comfortable silence, Tetsurou suddenly felt a soft pressure against his other arm. He glanced over. It was one of their cats, the orange striped tabby, Kenma Jr. She was rubbing her head against his arm. He picked her up and put her in his lap, where she curled up and began to purr. Then, as per usual, their other cat, completely black, Kuroo Jr. moved to Kenma's side. She nuzzled him affectionately, and meowed softly when he stroked her head. Kenma tended to prefer the cats to any human contact. One of his more charming qualities, Tetsurou mused.

"What's the new game about?" he asked.

"Not telling." Kenma, a brilliant independent game designer, tended to stay reserved about his games until they were ready. Claimed that having anyone else know disturbed his creative process.

"Right."

"How was work?"

"Good. The usual. How about you come down tomorrow night? You're always cooped up in here."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I really wanna finish this game."

"Kenma's favorite quote."

Kenma glared at Tetsurou from the corner of his sharp eyes, batted his thick eyelashes, then went back to his computer. Tetsurou smiled and tried to concoct a plan to finally get Kenma out of here.

Since Tetsurou had known him, Kenma had been overwhelmingly anti-social, locking himself away to play video games. He never went anywhere without his 3DS. It hadn't been so bad when he was younger—Tetsurou had managed to get him outside, play with other kids, participate in sports and study for exams. Tetsurou had been like his private tutor and absolute best friend. Since they'd met, living next to each other in the same neighborhood, they'd almost never been separated. But, even with Tetsurou by his side, Kenma's tendencies had gotten worse with age. It wasn't as if he had had a bad, abusive childhood or was bullied. He just became more withdrawn, to the point that Tetsurou had started dragging him to weekly therapy sessions. At the very least, it would help him talk to people. But it was strange. Kenma could move hearts and minds and souls with his games, and his fashion sense was so cute that it didn't make sense that he hardly left the house.

However, Tetsurou wasn't the type to give up on anything. And, in the end, he was the only one Kenma could turn to.

Which wasn't to say that Tetsurou was doing it selflessly—he needed Kenma, too. He was Tetsurou's best friend, as close as a brother to him.

"You have an appointment tomorrow, right?" Tetsurou said. His eyes on Kenma's apathetic features.

"Yeah. Can you take me?"

"Of course. I'll even do your hair for you," he winked.

"You can't even do your own."

"True enough."

Kenma Jr. hopped off Tetsurou's lap and began to walk over the keyboard, inadvertently messing up the codes that Kenma had been working on. Exasperated, Kenma hugged his legs and heaved a quiet sigh.

"Great. Thanks, Kenma Jr."

As if saying you're welcome, Kenma Jr. meowed, and then lay down on the computer.

"That's all right. You can fix it later, yeah?" Tetsurou reached his fingers up and began running them through Kenma's hair. Kenma loved Tetsurou playing with his hair. He said that it helped calm him down and make him feel okay. He would braid it, tie it in pigtails, brush it. He'd gotten very good with hair. He was even the one who cut it and dyed it for him every month.

Then, he noticed tears gathering on Kenma's eyes. He started shaking, gently, and tightening his grip on his legs, and biting down on his lower lip. They were the signs. For weeks he would hold everything in, absolutely everything, and then in random explosions, everything would come out. It only happened when he and Tetsurou were alone, never even with the therapist. And even Kenma couldn't explain them. Something small would trigger them. Like his game shutting down, or hearing the cats cry, or watching a movie. Or Kenma Jr. messing up his codes.

"I just feel really sad," he would say. "I need to cry. Could you just...could you just wait, there, until I'm done?"

Tetsurou always sat in silence through the tears, his hands in Kenma's hair. He hated that he was so accustomed to this.

 _There must be something else I can do,_ he always thought. _This can't be it._

But he didn't know.

So now, he did what he could do. He wrapped his arm around little Kenma's shoulders, twirling his fingers in Kenma's long, tangled hair. He was quiet as he cried, the tears rolling down his cheeks, and Tetsurou didn't say anything. Just leaned his cheek against Kenma's head and held him.

Usually, Kenma would cry as quietly as he could for about half an hour, and then go right back to normal.

Today, for some reason, something changed.

Somehow, Tetsurou had been expecting it.

Kenma's fingers grasped for Tetsurou's shirt, and he turned and buried his face in Tetsurou's neck. He was so warm, fit so nicely into the crook of Tetsurou's long arm. His tears were wet and Tetsurou wondered what they tasted like.

"Hey, Kenma..."

"You smell really nice, Kuro."

Tetsurou was a bit surprised at the comment. Kenma had sometimes said things like this, when he was sleepy or a bit drunk, but he didn't seem like either of those things right now. He just seemed sad, terribly sad, and Tetsurou felt the urge—an urge he'd been feeling more and more lately—to hold Kenma more tightly. So he did. He must have showered earlier. He smelled like flowers.

"It's all right," he said.

"Yeah, I know."

Even though he said it, Kenma didn't sound like he knew. He sounded lost and tired.

"Tell me what you're feeling," Tetsurou whispered. "I'm not a therapist, but I'll listen. I want to know."

"I don't know. I just feel scared and sad."

Something was changing, and Tetsurou knew now (finally) that he wasn't the only one who felt it. This must've meant that Kenma felt it, too. A heat that had never been here before.

Lately, Tetsurou had been noticing new things about Kenma, things he used to notice about pretty girls who walked into coffee shops, elegant professors at school, celebrities plastered on the televisions. Like the way his hair fell so gently against his small, curved back, and the little ridges of his spine that were visible through his oversized sweaters. Like the way he put so little of his lips around the edge of the bottle when he drank, always from bottles. Like the way his fingernails looked when they tapped away on the keyboards of his computer, how vacant the glassy look in his eyes. Like the way he pouted a bit when he smiled, and after he spoke, and in between bites when he was eating. Little, insignificant pieces that made Tetsurou's heart slowly cave in on itself.

He'd been pushing away his thoughts, desperate to bury them, but now that he was holding Kenma like this they were flaring up again with a vengeance. Waves forced down to the bottom of the ocean that were coming up as a tsunami now, washing over everything.

"It's okay. I'm here. You can be sad and scared, I'm here."

Tetsurou was nervous when he put his lips, cautiously, gingerly, against Kenma's scalp. Dipping his toe into the water, to test the temperature. His hair was so soft. He was scared that the move was too bold, that maybe he was just confused about what he was feeling. He'd been friends with Kenma for so long...maybe it made sense to be confused, he wondered. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe...

But Kenma leaned into his lips until they were pressed heavily against his head. He grasped Tetsurou's shirt more tightly, his long nails nearly digging into the skin of Tetsurou's chest. Is this what had been building? Since Tetsurou had first thought, _when did my best friend become this lovely?_

"Kenma..."

Kenma sniffled once. Tetsurou closed his eyes and tried to think of the consequences of jumping, as Kenma pulled him forward. Jumping over this cliff that he'd been approaching for a while, unaware that Kenma had been right next to him the whole time. The territory at the bottom of the abyss was completely unknown. Right now they were on the edge of their comfortable, happy friendship, but jumping would mean leaving that behind for something new and different. It would mean leaving certainty for uncertainty.

 _Don't do it, Tetsurou._

 _Don't do it._

 _He's just emotional, and you care about him too much, don't do it..._

When Tetsurou cupped Kenma's cheek in his hand and positioned his head so that he was looking down into Kenma's watery eyes, he suddenly lost the ability to think about consequences. It appeared that Kenma was in a similar situation, cheeks rosy and lips parted. He closed his eyes slowly and tilted his chin up higher. Letting his lips fall even more open. Stray strands of hair clinging to the tearstains on his cheeks.

 _Kenma..._

"Kenma."

Tetsurou and Kenma jumped.

Tetsurou kissed his lips slowly, at first. Kenma's were quivering. He started light, careful. As his mouth curved to fit the shape of Kenma's, Kenma pulled on Tetsurou's shirt. Pulled him closer, shifted his legs to reach further up. After about a minute, Tetsurou pulled away, keeping his fingers cupped around Kenma's chin. There were more round, shimmering tears in his eyelashes.

"Kenma, are you...?" he began quietly. Kenma closed his eyes and shook his head. Tetsurou's nerves flared up again.

"I don't wanna talk anymore," he murmured. "I'm just tired and I want you to kiss me."

"Are you sure, Kenma?" Tetsurou put his forehead against Kenma's. Now that they'd started, he wanted this. He realized that he'd wanted it for so long, he was desperate for this. But if Kenma were to say the word, he would stop in a heartbeat.

He really hoped that Kenma wouldn't say no.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Okay."

Tetsurou kissed Kenma again, harder this time. Kenma reached up, his fingers clawing at the vulnerable skin of Tetsurou's exposed neck. Arms snacked around his neck, pulling himself onto his knees and arching his neck back. Tetsurou couldn't help but smile against his mouth. He leaned forward and ran his hands from Kenma's shoulders, his chest, his stomach, down to his waist. Squeezed. The more that he kissed Kenma, the more of the taste he drank in, the more crazed he became. But he reigned himself back. His mouth still curled in a smile, he probed the outside of Kenma's lips with the tip of his tongue. Teased Kenma's wet, panting mouth, pushed his hands up under Kenma's giant sweater. His hands must've been cold. When his palms pressed to the sides of Kenma's torso, Kenma sighed audibly, desperately. In response, Tetsurou drove his tongue in further, navigating, suddenly thinking about how many words he'd heard roll from the tongue around which he now thirstily wrapped his own.

Kenma wrapped his arms more tightly around Tetsurou, pulled, moaned against his lips quietly. Tetsurou opened his eyes because he couldn't bear to not look at Kenma's face. Eyes closed, cheeks so red, eyelashes shaking and tears gone. Tetsurou worked his fingers up higher. He moved his kiss to the corner of Kenma's lips, groaned when Kenma let out a soft, breathy whimper.

"A-ah..."

Kenma let his head fall forward, leaned his forearms on Tetsurou's shoulders, and let Tetsurou pull his legs around his waist. Pressed the weight of his groin against Tetsurou's, reached for the back of Tetsurou's shirt, while Tetsurou's tongue drew circles on Kenma's neck. Kenma dug his hips down, pressed himself to Tetsurou's chest, moaned into his red ear as the pleasure spread warm and white between their legs. Tetsurou pushed his hips up, drove his hands higher, higher, until Kenma raised his arms and Tetsurou tossed his sweater into the corner. Kenma Jr. and Kuroo Jr. both scurried over to it and curled up together.

"Mm, you're so beautiful," Tetsurou murmured against Kenma's skin. He wrapped his arms around his bare body, let his fingers ride his pale skin like he were smoothing it out, painting it, desperate to kiss every inch. While Kenma's legs, in their pink socks and curled toes, pressed down into the carpet. In the next moment, Tetsurou's shirt was off, too, and Kenma's nails drew blood from the skin of his back. Kenma's hair was falling down against his skin, tickling him, getting in the way of his hard tongued kisses.

"K...Kuro..."

Kenma pressed, pressed, pressed down against Tetsurou's rising crotch, until his back arched back and his hips swiveled and his face turned toward the ceiling. Tetsurou couldn't quiet his moan, not when he felt the pressure and saw Kenma's face like that. Upturned, eyes slightly open and mouth wide and hair everywhere. He was sweating—they both were. Exposed, beautifully pale and porcelain. Tetsurou let his lips hover just above the skin of Kenma's neck, touched it lightly with his tongue. Put his palms in the arch of his back and let Kenma fall back slightly. As he did, Kenma maneuvered his hand until it was fiddling with the rim of Tetsurou's pants, teasing, the skin-to-skin contact unbearably tantalizing. He unbuttoned them, unzipped them, and slowly—fuck it was slow—dug his hand into Tetsurou's boxers.

"Fuck, Kenma—!"

He wrapped his fingers around Tetsurou's semi-hard cock, moving the ring of his hand slowly down the shaft. Down, and then back up, pushing it toward his stomach. He rolled his wrist, moved, until Tetsurou was harder than a rock. And, from what he could tell when Kenma moaned and swiveled his hips again, so was Kenma. Tetsurou smiled as the sweat poured and the air became heavy with their breaths. And he forced himself to keep his drooping eyes open. At least for a little bit.

As Kenma moved his hand, rolling it over the head and gradually getting faster, Tetsurou watched him lick his lower lip. It made his body hot, made him groan and spin from the pleasure. When he blinked he saw white. He lifted his hand and put it to Kenma's cheek, wiping the hairs away to see him more clearly. Kenma didn't smile—his smiles were rare. But he leaned into Tetsurou's palm and opened his lips and sighed.

Tetsurou used his other hand to move down to Kenma's around his cock. He grabbed it, and without a word, moved it away.

"Kuro—ah!"

Tetsurou leaned forward, forcing Kenma down onto his back on the carpet. He settled himself between Kenma's hips and kissed him, grabbed his hands, pushed them down to the ground. Kenma's muffled groans vibrated against his lips, his hair spread out beneath his head, his mouth opened in welcome. He bent his legs and put the soles of his feet to Tetsurou's calves, moving them up and down. But he pulled away, turned sideways, when Tetsurou breathed out and thrust his hips against him. His fingers squeezed Tetsurou's.

"Kenma, do you," he began, pausing to take a breath while he whispered in his ear. "Do you want to...?"

"Yes." Kenma began to nod. He stretched his arms further out. "Let's do it."

Tetsurou laughed quietly. At the sound, Kenma opened his eyes. Blinked lethargically, let the tension out from his muscles.

"What's so funny?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Tetsurou shook his head. "Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing, I just..." Tetsurou paused to kiss him. For as long as he could. "Your hair looks funny."

"Stop it. Bedhead."

"Pudding head."

Tetsurou smiled. Then he propped himself up on his arms and sighed again.

"I'll be right back. Don't move."

Kenma nodded while Tetsurou ran quickly back to his room, shaking off his boxers as he did. He reached into his nightstand for a condom and a bottle of lube, and then he ran back to where Kenma still lay in the exact same position. Tetsurou moved back in between his hips and buried his fingers in Kenma's hair. Kissed his lips. Kissed them again, lifted Kenma's thighs, dug his hips in deeper. Dug them in again, until he could hear Kenma's sigh in his ear. He put his lips to Kenma's chest, watched Kenma's fingers grasp the blanket that was spread across the carpet, while he bit open the condom wrapper and by some miracle managed to slip it on. Just looking at Kenma spread out beneath him made him see stars. When the condom was securely on, he flipped open the lube bottle and spread it along his fingers.

"Ready?"

Kenma nodded.

Gently, Tetsurou pushed Kenma's hips up higher. He began as slow as possible. One finger, circling the rim, while he continued kissing Kenma. His finger went in a little bit, circled, went in further. Kenma caught his breath and opened his mouth wider. He was tight, so Tetsurou was careful. He pushed his finger in the entire way, and then removed it halfway. Kenma squirmed, whimpered for a moment, and caught his breath again when Tetsurou pushed his finger back in. When he was loose (at least looser than before), he put the second finger in. This time, it was obviously painful. Kenma bit his lower lip and grasped the blanket more tightly, until his knuckles were white.

In an attempt to relax him, Tetsurou kissed him slowly. Danced with his tongue, moaned into him, moved with both fingers. Then he pulled them both out. Kenma let his breath out and began to pant, catch his breath, relax his muscles. Tetsurou tightened his grip on Kenma's thighs, lifted them just a bit higher, kissed him again. Kenma's eyes fluttered open. His hands went up to Tetsurou's face, his fingers traced his lips. Tetsurou kissed his fingertips.

Kenma closed his eyes. Put his arms around his neck. So Tetsurou positioned his hips and put the head of his cock to his entrance. He saw Kenma start holding his breath. He went in slowly because he knew it was nothing like fingers, even with the lube. When he wasn't even halfway in, Kenma gasped and banged his head back against the floor. Tetsurou paused, listened for a moment to Kenma's ragged breath, and moved his hand down Kenma's torso. Then he grabbed Kenma's cock. If he could give him this pleasure, it might take away the pain. He pumped, hoping that his felt even a little bit as good as what Kenma's hand had felt like, and pushed in deeper.

"God..."

He was almost all the way in, and Kenma's face was completely red. Mouth wide open, eyes fluttering. He clung to Tetsurou's neck desperately. When he was almost all in, he pulled out a bit, just enough for Kenma to let his breath out. Then he pushed back in, grit his teeth, pressed his thumb against the head of Kenma's cock. After a few repetitions, Kenma had loosened up significantly more. He wasn't so tense, but sweat covered his face and his back, his fingers digging into Tetsurou's skin. He started to go in deeper, go in faster, and Kenma moaned desperately in Tetsurou's ear. With every thrust, Kenma loosened up more, breathed out in a high whimper. Tetsurou watched the pain melt into pleasure—he wasn't as inexperienced as he would have people think. He knew what he was doing. He angled himself differently, slid in and out, probing for Kenma's sweet spot. Kenma pushed his hips down, grinded against him, wrapped his legs around him.

Eventually, it was there. Tetsurou slid down into the sweet spot, and Kenma cried out, falling back down against the carpet. Tetsurou put his lips, his tongue, to Kenma's neck and pumped him, hit the spot again, again, while his own pleasure began to build. He groaned, gravelly, with each thrust, while Kenma let the cries of pleasure sit on his open lips.

"Kuro, I—"

He stole what words Kenma was about to say with a heavy kiss. He held that kiss as he thrust again, as they moaned into each other—as he stiffened, trembled, and they reached the final stage together. Crying each other's names into their ears. Tetsurou rolled over onto his back, panting, Kenma doing the same beside him.

"Whoa," he breathed.

"I didn't realize it would be so good," Kenma whispered.

"Haven't you seen me?" Tetsurou scoffed.

"Kuro?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course."

He sat up, exhausted, and got dressed. Then he helped Kenma back into his shorts and sweater, remembering that he'd been wearing his socks the entire time. Without bothering to brush their teeth, they curled up beneath the blankets of Kenma's bed. For about an hour after they'd gotten into bed, Kenma was on his phone. Staring at the screen, the only source of light in the room, as Tetsurou held him and breathed against the back of his neck and braided his hair. Kenma Jr. and Kuroo Jr. joined them on the bed.

Tetsurou wasn't actually sure if Kenma ended up falling asleep.

But when the morning came, and they woke up wrapped up in each other, they saw each other and realized.

Everything was different now.


	2. Chapter 2

**hi everyone**

 **i'm sorry this took so long to update-i promise updates will be regular from now on :)**

 **enjoy**

* * *

 **2**

 **Kenma**

Kenma did fall asleep that night, if only for a few hours. Curling up in Tetsurou's arms helped him feel warm, comfortable, secure enough to let his eyes close. His breath and the heaving of his chest was like a lullaby. He had a beautiful dream.

* * *

 _I'm sitting on the edge of a sandbox. It's chilly, even though I'm wearing a jacket, and there are grains of sand in my pants. I'm awfully uncomfortable. I'm staring down at the ground, watching a line of ants walk around my feet. They look like they have purpose, and that makes me jealous, because I have no idea what mine is. None at all. Even if I get up and walk, like they are, I won't have anywhere to go—nowhere meaningful, at least. I don't know where my feet would take me._

 _I don't have to wonder. My eyes are still glued to the ants when a hand reaches down and grabs mine, forcing my gaze up. There's a boy smiling shamelessly down at me. His hair is very black and messy, his eyes kind of narrow and dark and colorless. His smile is crooked, like one side of his mouth is heavier than the other. I jump in surprise, blink, and he tugs on my hand. Not strong enough to pull me, but there is something in the touch of his fingers against my wrist, stronger than any physical force. I stand up. He laughs and starts to run, so I run with him. We leave the ants and the sandbox behind and run toward the ocean. I'm scared of the ocean, but he looks back and says, "It's okay," somehow smoothly even as he runs._

" _I'm scared of the ocean, too, but we can teach other how to swim."_

* * *

When Kenma finally opened his eyes, he was freezing and sad. He was alone in the bed, and even though the room was dark, he peered through the door to the room and saw the sunlight in the main hall. Groggy, slow, lightheaded, he reached for his phone. When he couldn't find it, he flipped the covers of the bed up, heard the thud of his phone, and grabbed it from the floor. It was a little past noon. He let his phone fall from his fingers back to the ground, rubbed his eyes. His limbs felt heavy and when he did so much as turn onto his back, his body ached. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, but he pulled the blankets up and curled up anyway. His curtain of hair fell upon his face as he crushed it against the pillow and smelled nothing but Tetsurou. Vivid images, sensations, from the surreal night before rushed back to him. His breath became ragged, but he knew that Tetsurou was still home, so he muffled his voice against the pillow. Tears slid from his eyes.

 _That couldn't have happened._

He smelled a strand of his own hair. That smelled like Tetsurou, too.

After he'd been laying there for long enough that he felt restless, Kenma put his feet against the carpet and spread his arms out. Almost immediately, Kuroo Jr. and Kenma Jr. began rubbing against his legs, their little bodies vibrating with their purrs. Still wiping tears, Kenma stroked their backs. He didn't bother opening the blinds. He didn't want any more sunlight. His appointment wasn't until two, so he had time to at least shower. In his big sweater (now covered in sweat), he shuffled out of his room and made his way to the bathroom. He moved as quickly as possible, not wanting to interact with Tetsurou for even a moment. He couldn't walk properly.

The shower was a strange one. He cleaned his ass, perhaps by instinct, more thoroughly. But the water running over his fragile limbs didn't feel cleansing, but almost like it was making him dirtier. His hair felt too long slapping against his spine. Everything was uncomfortable. He finished as quickly as he could and hurried back to his room to get dressed. He put on his favorite pair of high-waisted denim shorts, with the flowery pockets, over a pair of black tights. He tucked a large white t-shirt into it and added a black belt. Then he moved to the tiny, dirty mirror to do his hair. He had to brush through it with a comb first, spray it with leave-in conditioner, then spend a good ten minutes blow-drying it to perfection. When it was soft and straight, he gathered it into a topknot, letting thick strands frame his face. He added a little flower pin, just behind his ear. As a final touch, he put on a thin layer of mascara and a splash of pink lip-gloss.

There were a lot of things Kenma didn't care about in his life. For some reason or another (even he couldn't understand it), his appearance was one of the few things he enjoyed caring about. He didn't care much for social interactions or school or work or anything, really. Maybe it was because his appearance, his wardrobe, his make-up, were the only things in his life that he could control.

 _Well, I guess I can add Kuro to that list,_ he thought cynically.

By the time he was done, it was around one. He supposed it was about time to see Tetsurou, though avoidance was one of Kenma's strong suits. He dragged himself out into the main living room, with the couch and the kitchen and the television and the tree for their cats. Tetsurou was there, but he was silent. He was on his back, lying on the couch, legs crossed, head leaning against the armrest. He had big red headphones over his ears, was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He must have showered, because his hair was still slightly wet, but it looked the same as it did every day. Messy, poking out and sweeping in every direction. Kenma had watched him for years try gel after gel, product after product, in an attempt to tame it. After a while he'd just given up, despite Kenma's protests. He was on his phone, bobbing his head to music that Kenma couldn't hear, texting someone. Kenma could see his tattoos peeking out from his t-shirt, could see the piercing in his eyebrow shimmer in the broken sunlight.

The longer he watched Tetsurou, oblivious to his gaze, the further Kenma's stomach sank. It was the first time he really felt like he didn't want to be around him. He'd made a mistake, one that would be terribly difficult to fix.

But, no, that wasn't fair—there had to be a reason that Kenma felt so relieved seeing Tetsurou spread out like that. His fingers typing away, nimble, at the keyboard on his phone. Foot in the air, bobbing to the beat. Hair falling over his eyes, small smile on the same lips that had kissed him so deeply. The laugh that escaped him after reading a funny message. Kenma wanted Tetsurou to stay like that forever because, despite the sense of remorse and discomfort, it felt so natural. He could've gazed at him forever.

After a few moments, Tetsurou must have felt Kenma watching him. He glanced over, smiled more broadly, and lowered his headphones to his neck.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said jovially.

 _Does he feel it, too?_ Kenma wondered. _This awful—awful?—change? Everything is different. I wonder if he feels it._

"Morning."

"You haven't slept that long in ages. Feel refreshed?"

Kenma shrugged. He didn't feel refreshed at all. Just sluggish.

"Well, anyway, it's a little late for breakfast, but I can make a quick lunch."

"Okay," Kenma said. He sat down in one of the armchairs and grabbed his 3DS from the coffee table. He was in the middle of _A Link Between Worlds_. He wanted to beat it soon.

"Sandwich all right?"

Kenma nodded, knowing that Tetsurou was watching. But he didn't expect Tetsurou to walk up to him. He was fighting the approaching enemies, but looked up when Tetsurou walked over.

"Oh, hold on, your pin is crooked."

Tetsurou reached down to fix Kenma's flower pin. And, like a reflex, Kenma flinched back, gripping the 3DS more tightly as the enemies slaughtered him. Tetsurou blinked, his hand frozen in the air, but forced a quivering smile to his lips and put his hand back into his pocket.

"Sorry, Kenma," he said softly.

Then he went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Kenma, his eyes on Tetsurou's broad, beautiful back, was afraid that he would start crying again. So he went back to his game and tried to forget (knowing that he never really would) that he had asked his best friend to fuck him senseless last night.

* * *

The car ride to the therapist's office was silent and awkward. Tetsurou had his window down, his elbow hanging out, other hand sitting smoothly on the steering wheel. He was wearing sunglasses, hadn't bothered doing anything with his hair. Kenma had his feet up on the dash in the passenger seat, still on his 3DS, window up, chewing bubblegum, annoyed from the glare of the sun on his screen. Tetsurou had his phone connected via Bluetooth and was playing the kind of music Kenma couldn't be bothered to listen to. There were a lot of guitar solos and the guy singing sounded like he'd smoked hundreds of cigarettes. Tetsurou mouthed the words.

At a red light, Tetsurou finally spoke.

"So, uh," he began. He sounded uncharacteristically uncertain. "How are you feeling?"

Kenma shrugged and kept playing. He didn't want to admit to Tetsurou that he felt terrible and frightened because of what happened last night. He felt dirty, he felt like he'd ruined everything, he felt like the amazing relationship he'd had with Tetsurou was gone.

"Are you gonna tell your therapist?"

"Tell him what?"

"You know," Tetsurou sighed, "about last night?"

"No. I don't think so," Kenma said quietly. He blew a bubble with his gum and let it pop against his lips.

In all honesty, he'd been considering it. Because now he was confused. As hard as they would try to set things back on course, they'd felt each other too deeply. Kenma knew the taste of him, the sensations of his clammy, sweet skin, the texture of his tongue and the rise and fall of his moans. He knew Tetsurou's kisses now. He knew the tenderness with which he touched Kenma. He had the marks of his fingertips engraved in his back. There was no way to go back, not now. Not when he closed his eyes, or licked his lips and felt Tetsurou. Not now that he was destined to think about nothing but Tetsurou when he slept, when he felt alone, when he touched himself.

"All right. Whatever makes you comfortable," Tetsurou said. They pulled into the parking lot and he turned to face Kenma. His smile was gone. "Guess I'll pick you up in an hour."

"Okay. Thanks." Kenma closed his 3DS and kicked the car door open, leaving it on the seat. The bubblegum had long ago lost its flavor, but he kept chewing it anyway.

"See you, Kenma."

Kenma waved his hand, tried to smile, but couldn't. Then he closed the car door and walked inside before Tetsurou's car had left the parking lot. Kenma ended up not telling his therapist about what had happened, even though he could tell that something was wrong. Thankfully, he wasn't the type of person to push.

An hour later, Kenma walked out of the building. Tetsurou was waiting there, just like he was every week, leaning against his car and twirling his keys. His sunglasses pushed up to his head. He waved to Kenma. Kenma waved back and walked over. He hoped that nobody could notice the strange way that he was walking. He was sure that Tetsurou could notice. Tetsurou handed him another piece of bubblegum, opened the door for him, then got into the driver's seat and started the car.

"Wanna stop for ice cream or something?"

Kenma blew another bubble.

"Sure. If you want ice cream, I'll come."

Tetsurou opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but he must have thought better of it. He just shrugged. He drove for a few more minutes and Kenma got in some more 3DS, and then they stopped at the little ice cream parlor by the wharf. It smelled like sugar and the ocean, and the sun was still bright. Kenma had to squint when he got out of the car, and this time he brought his 3DS with him. He and Tetsurou walked up to the small booth, where the pretty silver-haired kid was scooping the ice cream. Kenma had seen him here before. He stood behind Tetsurou, playing on his 3DS, shuffling from one bedazzled foot to the other. He had to admit that, as annoying as the sunlight was, it felt nice and warm on his pale skin.

"One medium bowl, scoop of lemon and scoop of strawberry for me," Tetsurou said. "And a cake cone with soft serve vanilla and rainbow sprinkles for him."

"Coming right up!"

"I got this one," Tetsurou smiled, pulling his wallet out.

Kenma blinked at him, tried to smile back, and failed again. He turned back down to the screen of his 3DS. If he had been playing a game that was less bright and colorful, he wouldn't have been able to see anything. When they had their ice cream, Kenma put his 3DS away and replaced it with his phone. Without really looking where he was going, he just followed Tetsurou, walking slowly. Followed, step after step, until Tetsurou decided on a wooden bench overlooking the ocean. He sat down, stretched his arms out, then crossed his legs and dug into his ice cream with a spoon. Kenma sat cross-legged beside him. He licked the sprinkles from his ice cream cone.

"Good session?" Tetsurou asked.

"Normal," Kenma said. He found a pidgey, so he caught it while he ate. He wanted Tetsurou to keep talking, but he didn't want to say anything. Knowing Tetsurou, he would probably start talking anyway. And, of course, Kenma was right.

"Hey, I've been thinking. You know, since we...I mean, since last night."

Kenma looked out at the ocean. He breathed it in. It went well with the taste of rainbow sprinkles.

"You haven't said anything about it...I just, uh, well..."

Tetsurou wasn't the type of person to stumble over his words. He was always so sure of himself. His uncertainty was enough to make Kenma's stomach churn. He avoided looking at Tetsurou and just focused on the ocean, the colors of his ice cream cone, his phone screen. Anything but Tetsurou. Kenma heard him take a deep breath.

"I'm really sorry, Kenma."

The apology made Kenma look over. Tetsurou was staring at him with a sad, guilty smile on his crooked lips. Kenma could see the gentleness in his eyes, even behind the dark sunglasses.

"You're...sorry?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. Listen, neither of us is stupid. But we couldn't have predicted—you know—what happened. You're my best friend, and I don't want that to change. I don't want things to be weird. I know it's hard, but maybe we could go back to the way things were?" he ventured. Kenma blinked.

 _So I wasn't the only one thinking that._

 _What a relief._

"Yeah. That's a good idea," Kenma sighed. He licked his ice cream, and this time, didn't flinch away when Tetsurou reached up to wipe it from the corner of his glossed lips with a napkin. "Okay."

"Sweet."

Kenma was finally able to smile back, even if it was slight. They both heaved a collective sigh, and turned back to the ocean.

 _But if it's such a relief..._

 _Why do I feel so fucking sad?_

* * *

Tetsurou tried to convince Kenma to come down to the bar. One of his best friends was coming, he said—a loud, energetic guy named Koutarou Bokuto that Kenma had met before—and it would do Kenma good to come down and spend some time with them. But he claimed that he didn't have the energy, and that he needed to finish his game. He had a deadline to meet, after all. So Tetsurou shrugged his shoulders, put on his bartending suit, and moved to the door.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find me," he called with a wave of his hand. "Try to get some sleep, all right?"

"Okay, Mom."

"Brat." With a mocking expression, Tetsurou laughed, and then left. Kenma was, yet again, alone. It was never Tetsurou's fault. He was always there with Kenma when he could be. But it was inevitable that they be separated, that Kenma be alone, a lot of the time. Except now, there was a different anxiety in waiting for Tetsurou to come back.

Kenma Jr. and Kuroo Jr. curled up on either side of Kenma when he turned off all the lights and sat down, back in his oversized sweater and lace shorts, to keep working on his game. They were both purring. After about an hour, right when he was starting to feel thirsty, Tetsurou popped back in with a bottle of Coke. He didn't say anything. He just scurried into the room, put the bottle (already opened) next to Kenma, and then ran back down to the bar before they noticed he was gone. Kenma continued coding, pausing every few moments to take a sip of his drink and calm himself down by stroking the cats. Usually he didn't cry while he coded, but tonight, he cried. He was thinking about Tetsurou. He was thinking about last night, how nice it had felt to kiss him. He was thinking about the feeling of Tetsurou inside him, being as close as they could possibly be, whispering in each other's ears.

He was thinking about how desperately he wanted to do it again.

He was thinking about how terrible of an idea that was, because they'd already ruined everything. Even if they said things would go back to normal, it would be nothing but a façade. They could never go back. And Tetsurou had still had the courage to apologize and say, I don't want things to be weird.

As he cried, Kenma coded a new character into his game. A little boy with black hair who liked the ocean. Kenma decided to name him Shiroo. He would be the main character's best friend. The cats seemed to like it.

" _Maybe we could go back to the way things were?"_

" _I'm sorry."_

" _Listen, neither of us is stupid..."_

Kenma chuckled to himself. That was the funniest thing Tetsurou had said, because it was wrong. Tetsurou...Tetsurou had always been smart. Much smarter than Kenma. That's why he'd helped Kenma study in high school, and why he'd always been a better friend to Kenma than Kenma had been to him.

 _Sorry, Kuro, but you're wrong._

 _I am stupid._

He made sure to go to bed, curling up with the cats, so that he could pretend to be asleep before Tetsurou came back. He didn't want to talk to him, because he knew that it would be a repeat of the night before.

Except tonight, Tetsurou would say no, and Kenma wouldn't have been able to bear that.

So instead, he touched himself before he went to bed, thinking about Tetsurou, exhausting himself. Crying.

 _You'll say no if I ask again, right?_

 _Asking would be stupid, right?_

 _You're not stupid, Kuro._

 _You won't let me be stupid again._

 _You'll just say no._

 _So I won't ask anymore._

 _You don't have to kiss me again._

 _I won't ask._

He didn't fall asleep that night. Not even for a single second.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

 **Kuroo**

Tetsurou considered actually pouring himself a drink, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he tried to focus all of his concentration, every last fucking bit of it, on Koutarou. Who was at the moment downing his third cocktail. It was hard to tell just when he was tipsy, drunk, or plain sober, due to his already loud nature and incessant smile. Tetsurou, who'd been friends with Koutarou for a few years now and owned the bar, could pretty much tell. Koutarou was still on the verge.

"Kuroo!"

"What's up?"

"Do you dare me to drink every single cocktail on the menu?"

"You wouldn't."

Koutarou raised his eyebrows.

"Wouldn't I?"

"Do you have," Tetsurou began quietly, leaning across the counter, "enough money for every single cocktail?"

"Aw, shit."

Tetsurou laughed as he mixed another one. He made deals for Koutarou, because they were close. It was also hilarious when Koutarou was shitfaced. He was hilarious all the time, really. He brought out the inner child in Tetsurou, made him want to do stupid things just for the hell of it. Both of them brought out the good in each other.

"Don't give him anymore. He's annoying enough as it is."

As Tetsurou handed the drink to Koutarou, they turned to face the tall, lanky kid who was approaching the counter. He was one of Tetsurou's employees, since he couldn't run the entire place himself. His name was Kei Tsukishima; he was a sarcastic, ill-tempered young man with a penchant for condescension and putting other people down. Unbelievably intelligent, and he liked to rub it in people's faces. Tetsurou had liked him as soon as he'd interviewed him for the job, much to Kei's dismay—even more annoying to the relatively withdrawn (unless he was insulting someone) Kei, Koutarou had taken a special interest in him.

"Like you could hold down _half_ the amount of alcohol that I can, Tsukki," Koutarou taunted.

"Don't call me that."

"Tsukki."

"Stop it."

"Tsukki. Kuroo, you try it."

"Don't you dare."

"Tsukkiiiiiiii," Tetsurou chimed in, drawing his voice out until he saw Kei cringe.

"You stupid old men should just go fuck yourselves," he grumbled, grabbing a tray of drinks and walking away.

"Hey. We're not that old," Koutarou grumbled.

"Yeah we are. Ancient," Tetsurou shrugged. "It just means we're wise."

"Oh. Wise. Yeah, I like that. We're wise as fuck."

"Not to mention sexy."

"Holy shit, we are, aren't we?" Koutarou cried. "Speaking of which, guess who got a super hot date." He took his thumbs and pressed them to his chest. " _This_ guy."

"Look at you go, you smooth son of a bitch."

A woman at the bar asked for a Long Island. He smiled at her, a smile that he'd once heard described as 'ambiguous,' and made the drink. She took it with a smooth thank-you and a generous tip.

"Bet you've got no problem with the ladies. Or the men. Or anyone, really," Koutarou pointed out. Tetsurou just kept smiling. He glanced back at the woman. She was sitting next to another woman, and they were speaking in hushed tones. As if they were telling secrets they wanted everyone to be curious about.

After Tetsurou had dropped out of college and taken over, the Black Cat had become a haven for members of the queer community, a safe place known throughout the city. Here, people loved in the beautiful, diverse ways that they knew how, making it bright and colorful and romantic. People wore what they wanted, said what they wanted, did what they wanted (and who they wanted), loved who they wanted. It was one of the reasons the Black Cat had become even more successful since Tetsurou had become its owner. It was a place where everyone could strip down to their very bones, reveal the parts of themselves that they felt forced to hide when they were outside of the sanctity of this place. Tetsurou liked seeing those parts in people.

"What can I say? I am who I am," he said to Koutarou.

"So?" he insisted.

"So, what?"

"Anyone currently on the radar, hotshot?"

"Right now?"

It was such an easy question to answer. It wasn't like Koutarou didn't know the answer anyway. If Tetsurou wanted someone on the radar, there was someone on the radar. He was hardly the type of person to be fond of loneliness, and he had no problems remedying such situations. Especially as the bartender of a place like Black Cat. Especially with a smile as 'ambiguous' as his. It drew people in.

The question had never bothered him before this moment. This specific moment, when it made his head spin and his heart shrivel up, hollow, colorless. But he swallowed his discomfort and made it look like a rainbow, so that when he opened his mouth to reply, lie to his best friend's face, it would at least look okay.

"No. Not now," he said. The words were bland on his tongue. It was at once both a lie and the truth, a lament, a means of hiding the fact that the one person he couldn't have was tearing him apart from the inside. Drinking away his color.

"Seriously?"

Tetsurou shrugged the question off, but Koutarou's attention span was small, so he let the subject change. He rambled about an episode of _My Strange Addiction_ he'd seen.

"There was this woman addicted to snorting baby powder, so I tried it, and I sneezed like crazy and got a really, really bad headache."

"You didn't get a high?"

"Nope, not even a little bit."

"You should try something more potent," Kei interjected, handing money for Tetsurou to put in the register. "Like salt."

"Ooh! Good idea, Tsukki."

Before Tetsurou could go grab a packet of salt, chuckling to himself, the door opened and two unfamiliar men walked in.

"Welcome to the Black Cat," he called. He leaned across the counter and smiled. "Haven't seen you two around."

"That's cuz we don't usually come into places like this," one of the men said. Tetsurou narrowed his eyes. They were stumbling over each other, laughing, snorting, already disruptive to the other customers. They were clearly very drunk.

"What, places with some decency?" Kei scoffed.

"Shut up, faggot!" One of the men pointed his finger at Kei, who just blinked. Genuinely surprised that someone had said that to him, let alone in a place like the Black Cat. Tetsurou knew these types—homophobic people who felt that it was a good idea to invade the places they knew they weren't welcome. Where they knew there were people unlike themselves, people they could make feel uncomfortable in their safe haven.

They were people that Tetsurou despised.

"Oi! If you're gonna make a scene, get out," he called.

"We'll go where we want! If we wanna bother a bunch of homos and trannies, we fucking will," one man said.

"Like hell you will. Get the fuck out, before I run my fist through that dirty mouth of yours," Tetsurou hissed. Koutarou stood up. A few other people stood among the hushed murmurs, and the two intruders looked around anxiously.

"Whatever. Like we wanna be around the likes of you anyway."

They turned and they left. Everyone heaved a collective sigh.

"The fuck was up with them?" Koutarou grumbled.

"You get them every once in a while. Like to come in and cause trouble because they have nothing better to do," Kei shrugged. "I almost feel bad for them."

"I don't." Tetsurou leaned back against the wall and started mixing another drink. And in that strange moment, when he blinked, he imagined Kenma upstairs. He was glad he hadn't been down here to see that. Kenma was sensitive.

At least, Tetsurou thought he was.

But recently, he felt like he hardly knew Kenma at all.

He knew that Kenma like to lie in bed, wrapped in the covers, and make himself small. He knew that Kenma's favorite food was apple pie. He knew that Kenma's favorite animal was a cat, just like Tetsurou, and he had even once said that he trusted Tetsurou because he reminded him of a cat. He knew that Kenma was shy, that he hated alcohol, that he was insecure about how skinny he was, that he loved Marina and the Diamonds and that after he got his paycheck he had impulsive shopping problems. It was easy to shop online, he said. It didn't require him to move. He knew that Kenma was addicted to video games, because they helped him escape reality and discover new worlds in different bodies.

He wondered if Kenma knew little things about him, too. His favorite movies, his favorite foods, his birthmarks and his weird habits.

At the end of the night, after Koutarou had been shipped home in a taxi, Kei helped Tetsurou clean up.

"How often do you see guys like that?" Kei asked as he swept the floors.

"You mean the assholes from earlier? Not that often. I mean, the whole vibe of the bar is relatively new. Only since I started running it. But people tend to know their place."

"Did you always plan on running it? After your dad retired, or whatever?"

"No." Tetsurou smiled. He wiped the counter. Kei blinked at him, stoic no matter the emotions he felt. "I wanted to be a chemist."

"A chemist? You? You're joking."

"As serious as they come," Tetsurou laughed. "I was studying it at university. But I dropped out to take over the place."

"Why the hell would you do that? You must've been good at it if you liked it enough to go to university for it," Kei said. Tetsurou shrugged.

"There were more important things I had to think about. Besides, I like it. And I'm good at mixing the drinks."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

After Kei was gone, Tetsurou took a deep breath. And he went upstairs, to the only reason he'd come back here in the first place. Where that reason was pretending to be asleep, curled up with the cats.

* * *

When Kenma walked out of his room, late the next morning, Tetsurou was distracted. He had spoons lined up at the kitchen table and was picking each one up, fitting it against his nose, his chin, his cheeks, and then trying to keep them there. He'd been trying for fifteen minutes now. He still hadn't managed even one.

"Kuro...what are you doing?" Kenma asked, shuffling over. Kenma Jr. was at his heels—Kuroo Jr. had long ago fallen asleep at Tetsurou's feet. Kenma was dressed as usual. His sweater, his shorts, his socks. He'd tied his hair up into a messy bun and the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy.

"Oh, morning," Tetsurou said with a smile. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not at all," Kenma said. He pointed to the spoons. "What's with the spoons?"

"Well, Bokuto sent me a picture of himself balancing four spoons on his face. Which means I have to balance five, but I can't even get one."

Kenma blinked. Once, twice, three times, before he shook his head lightly and moved to the fridge. He opened it and began to rummage, while Tetsurou tried again with the spoons. But his eyes were on Kenma now. His shoulders hunched, strands of hair sneaking out of his hair-tie, large sleeves of his sweater (even in summer) covering his hands and smooth legs shaking slightly. He liked to curl his toes up, and Tetsurou could see it through the socks. Now that the fridge was open, Kenma Jr. began rubbing against Kenma's legs, and then meowed. Begging for food. Tetsurou wished that Kenma had been able to sleep. Sleep made him look brighter, not so sad and small.

"We're out of milk," he said softly, taking out the empty carton. "Why would you put an empty milk carton back in the fridge?"

"Woops. Sorry," Tetsurou shrugged. Kenma looked at him for a few moments, then put the empty carton back, never breaking eye contact. Instead, he grabbed the half-sandwich that he never finished yesterday and sat at the table picking at it.

"How's the game coming?" Tetsurou asked.

"It's fine. I'll make the deadline, no problem."

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah."

Tetsurou and Kenma had never had awkward silences before. (Which wasn't to say that they never sat in silence together. They did that a lot—it was just never awkward.) But this silence was so awkward that if they'd reached their fingers out, they would've felt it rubbing against their nails. Everything was heavy. Tetsurou's gaze fell to the chips, the scratches, the stains on the table, and he let the spoons fall. His phone buzzed, so he scrolled through his messages absentmindedly. Even if he wasn't looking at Kenma, he was so aware of his presence, more than he'd ever been before. He could hear his breaths, his soft chews, his nails scraping the table, his swallows.

At one point, Tetsurou glanced up. Kenma was eating. Just eating. There was a glassy, vacant look in his eyes. He swallowed, zoning out, somehow unaware of Tetsurou's eyes on his face. After a few seconds, he noticed a piece of lettuce stuck to his thumb. He brought it to his lips, licked it off, kept his thumb there a bit longer, and then took another bite of his sandwich.

In that moment, something strange happened. Tetsurou felt heat, starting deep in his stomach, spreading through his body mercilessly. His eyes were watery and his skin tingled. He could see every detail of Kenma's tongue as it pressed to his thumb. He thought of how Kenma's tongue tasted. He wanted it to stay there a bit longer, but it was gone too fast, and Tetsurou was left with nothing but thoughts of how desperately he wanted Kenma's tongue pressed to _his_ skin.

 _Fuck._

Blushing, hot, overwhelmed, Tetsurou ripped his eyes away.

When Kenma was finished, he washed his plate and put it on the drying rack. Then he walked to the couch and he sat down, bringing his legs up, and grabbed his 3DS. Tetsurou was hungry, too, but he didn't want to get up and make himself anything. He lacked the energy at that particular moment. Which was strange.

They sat in silence for a bit longer. Then, oddly enough, Kenma was the one to break the silence.

"Kuro, I have a favor to ask."

"Hmm? What's up?" Tetsurou's head came up like a dog whose owner just walked through the door, and he was crushingly conscious of it. Kenma was still looking at the 3DS screen.

"Could you brush and braid my hair? You're way better at it than me."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Are you going somewhere?"

"No. It's just bothering me."

"Okay."

It wasn't an odd request. In fact, it was a rather common one. Kenma often turned to Tetsurou when it came to his hair because at this point, Tetsurou had become an expert at dealing with it. And yet, he was surprised when Kenma asked. He wouldn't have been surprised a few days ago—but now that Kenma had also, at one point, asked Tetsurou to fuck him, it sounded a bit different.

Tetsurou quickly went into the bathroom to grab Kenma's black hairbrush. On the couch, Kenma had already positioned himself, so that his feet were pressed against the armrest and his shoulder was leaning against the back of the couch. Tetsurou sat behind him, legs crossed. His hair was still in the messy bun. So Tetsurou reached up and gently, so that he wouldn't hurt Kenma, pulled the hair-tie out, guiding the tangled strands of hair down to Kenma's back, covering his pale neck. Then, while Kenma kept playing, he began to comb through it. He would put the clumps of hair in the palm of his hand and run the brush through, slowly, thoroughly, taking care of every tangle. The backs of his fingers hovered above Kenma's neck, moved along it, until he found himself driven nearly mad by the nearness of his skin.

"Two braids or one?" he murmured.

"One."

He brushed, brushed, brushed, until he could easily run his fingers through Kenma's blond strands. His back barely moved with his quiet, small breaths, and from his hunched shoulders, the ridges of his spine poked out just slightly. Tetsurou remembered what it had been like to run his hands along them, counting the ridges, dipping through them like mountains and valleys that he mapped on his raw fingertips.

He split Kenma's hair into three strands. He put the two on either side over Kenma's shoulders, smoothed them out, even though they didn't really need smoothing. Then he began to braid. One strand over the other, pause, grab the other, bring that one over the one in the middle. A rhythmic, robotic motion that he'd grown used to—when Kenma had first asked him, and he'd totally screwed it up, he'd taken it upon himself to watch YouTube videos dedicated to the art of braiding so that the next time, he'd be able to give Kenma a real braid. Now it was natural. As he worked, strand after strand, tightening, he brought his face closer. Even he wasn't really aware of it. Suddenly, his forehead was nearly touching the back of Kenma's head. No doubt, Kenma could feel his breaths. His fingers moved more slowly, his breathing hollowed, caught in his dry throat. He was dreaming now, alone but together with Kenma in this world of daydreams and pretty braids and licking lettuce off thumbs.

Any understanding of consequences, any impulse control, slipped away, just like they had when he'd first kissed Kenma.

He moved the half-finished braid over Kenma's shoulder so that he could see clearly the skin of his neck. It was bare, vulnerable, exposed, so fucking beautiful. Kenma caught his breath. Tetsurou could hear it. Fingers still entwined in Kenma's hair, Tetsurou brought his face closer, closer, until his lips were right there. Just above Kenma's skin. When he breathed in, there were sunflowers. Strawberries. Apple pie. Sadness and fear and cat hair.

His lips reached. He kissed that spot, in the middle of Kenma's neck. Pressed his lips against it, and without thinking, said his name.

"Kenma..."

He kissed it again. Again. Again. Breathing ragged now against Kenma's skin. Kenma's back hunched a bit more, his toes curled, he sighed and there was an earthquake.

But when he heard Kenma's voice, he came to his senses.

"Kuro."

He pulled away quickly, jarringly, scaring even himself with this brutal rush into reality.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he stumbled, burying his face in his hands.

"It's all right. Can you finish braiding my hair, please? I can't finish it on my own."

"Of course."

He kept his distance when he grabbed Kenma's hair again and continued braiding. Until it was tight, neat, and he tied it at the end. Finally, he pulled against the strands, to give it a more textured, thicker appearance.

"Thanks, Kuro."

"Any time."

He stood from the couch, his face red, and he went to his room under the ruse of having a phone call to make. Doing his best to avoid Kenma's eyes, because he wouldn't have been able to stand seeing the look of betrayal, sadness, emptiness, on Kenma's face. Not now.

 _Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

 **Kenma**

Kenma wished that Tetsurou had kept going. He wished that he'd kissed him harder, let his tongue run its course, slipped his fingers beneath his sweater and touched his bare skin. Now, sitting alone on the couch, the back of Kenma's neck was cold and empty. He reached back and brushed his fingers against it. Right at the spot where Tetsurou had let his lips fall. Kenma closed his eyes. He tried to imagine that those lips were back there again. Then he imagined them on his shoulder, while the sweater slipped off. On his collar while he arched his neck back and tried to guess what pictures his tongue was painting.

Kenma could no longer deny (at least to himself) that he wanted Tetsurou Kuroo so desperately that it made him see stars. He didn't know why, he couldn't determine when it had happened, and there was really nothing he could do about it. Tetsurou had made himself clear.

 _But had he?_

They'd been friends for a while, Kenma reasoned. He knew Tetsurou almost better than he knew himself. And as he sat and thought about the kisses on his neck, and the way Tetsurou had so tenderly combed through his hair, the explanation hit him. There were very few things Tetsurou cared about more than Kenma—so if Kenma wanted something, Tetsurou would do everything in his power to get it for him.

That's all that the sex meant. All that the kiss meant.

Kenma knew that Tetsurou wasn't actually making a phone call, so if he started crying, Tetsurou would hear. He swallowed it back. He curled up on the couch and buried his head in the cushions, vaguely aware of the cats jumping up to join him after finding their meows at Tetsurou's door fruitless. He grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it to his chest, forced himself to take deep, too-long breaths to shoo the tears and the sobs away. It felt so nice when Tetsurou was touching him. Was it so bad to want to feel nice like that all the time? Was that so wrong, so wrong that Tetsurou had to apologize and hide his boners and pretend to have fake conversations with fake people just to get out of the same room?

Somehow, by a miracle from a god who must have felt bad for putting Kenma through the torture of wanting to be touched and touched and touched by his best friend, he fell asleep. There, on the couch, pillow hugged against his chest and imagining Tetsurou's arms around him. But this god wasn't so merciful—Kenma dreamt of nothing but Tetsurou.

* * *

Kenma is on the beach. He loves the beach. He's always loved the beach. It's almost a fantastical land to him, a place he can only travel to in times of magic and luck and people who pity him. He loves the sand, because it's golden, and he hopes that in some angles of light his hair can look like that. Hiding the dirty black beneath. He loves the water, too, although he hates swimming; just looking at it is enough. Eyes scanning the soft, smooth waves as they crawl toward him, only to retreat back to infinity. He wishes the feeling of water on his skin weren't so ugly, made his skin shiver the way that it does. Otherwise he would live in those waves with the fish, so unaware of the air above the surface. He loves the smell, too. Whatever sunlight smells like—whatever sunburns and freckles and straw hats smell like—that is the beach. Kenma has always hated that he sunburns so easily.

He is lying on his back. Closing his eyes, though the sunlight pierces through his eyelids and makes the darkness there bright. Bright darkness, what a funny thought, a contradictory picture. His lips curl up into a smile. He realizes, the sand massaging his skin, that he is completely naked. Not even a swimsuit, not even his favorite hat, not even a drop of sunscreen. He is as he is, offering his delicate skin to the sun in its shriveling nakedness.

Even though the beach is quiet, Kenma knows that he's not alone. There is someone next to him. He doesn't need to open his eyes to know who it is. He can just feel the heat, hear the familiar music of the breaths of that person. So close that they are nearly touching, but not quite. Kenma can even imagine the expression on that person's face.

Tetsurou must be smiling. He almost always is. A crooked, heavy-on-one-side smile, lips curling over slightly crooked, sharp white teeth whose bites feel like the goosebumps you get when you listen to really, really good music. His eyelids are drooping, but he is wide-awake. Frighteningly awake. He looks like he has some kind of plan. Like the next moment is one that he's been waiting for his entire life—why does he always look like that? Like he's a god, a god who has been able to scheme everything so perfectly with the grace of Aphrodite emerging from the ocean? Maybe he really has. He planned for Kenma to be here beside him, unable to open his eyes (even if he wanted to) beneath the heavy fingers of the sun pressing him into the sand.

Neither of them says anything. They don't need to. Kenma has never needed to. Tetsurou can hear what he wants to say without him needing to actually say anything. Tetsurou spoils Kenma, spoils his voice. He lets him be silent when the rest of the world says, Speak, and Kenma has always been thankful for that.

Tetsurou reaches his arm out, so much tanner than Kenma's, and drapes it across Kenma's chest. Kenma sighs under the sudden pressure, weighing down against his body, warm and cold and wet and dry all at once. Tetsurou's fingers begin to move, circling around his shoulder, hovering one moment only to dig deep and hard the next. Leaving his mark on Kenma, so that one day when Kenma opens his eyes he can see them for himself and know that Tetsurou really was here. His fingers feel like satin.

He moves his hand to the center of Kenma's chest. He traces the lines of his muscles, not so defined, so that he can define them himself. This is where your collarbone is, isn't it, Kenma? And here, this is your left pectoral. Your heart is in there somewhere. Right? And down here—fingers trickling like drops of water from his neck—down here are your abs. One, two, three...do a sit up for me. No? Don't worry. You must be tired. Don't move a single one of these muscles.

As his hands, his fingers continue mapping out Kenma's body, Tetsurou moves closer in the sand. He puts his mouth to Kenma's shoulder. His lips are open. His breaths push into Kenma's skin, move down through the muscle and the bone and become a part of his bloodstream. Kenma can feel those breaths paralyzing him from the inside out. Tetsurou kisses his shoulder, and then begins to paint with his tongue. Landscapes. A map of the world. Here, Japan, on your shoulder. Across the Pacific is America, over here at the base of your neck. China big and broad lining your jaw, see how my tongue can trace every dip of its borders and every rise of its mountains. Kenma becomes lost, not knowing which body part is where and which country is which, in the pleasure of Tetsurou's tongue. Moving like an old friend who knows his body better than he knows it himself. Knows how to make him feel so much pleasure it blinds someone who is already blind.

Kenma, Tetsurou says. Kenma, Kenma, Kenma. He moans it without shame, letting the notes of his voice crash into the tympanic membrane in Kenma's ear. His hands are moving all over Kenma's body now, while he moans and moans over and over. His name, only his name. Kenma, Kenma, Kenma.

Yes, Kenma keeps saying. He tries to nod, tries to open his eyes, tries to move so that Tetsurou's lips fit more tightly, but he cannot do anything. He can only say Yes, Yes, Yes. Trying to reach the climax of a dream that can never be reached. Only in nightmares, perhaps.

The scenery changes now. Kenma's position changes, too. He is on the edge of a cliff. He is still naked, and the roughness of the grass and the dirty and the small pebbles is rough against his skin. He is sitting, and his legs are dangling over the edge. If he leans forward just a bit, he feels the sensation that he's about to fall, and he can see the tumultuous waters waiting for his sacrifice below. They are calling to him, but he's not quite sure where they will take him, so he doesn't lean forward any more. He puts his hands calmly in his lap and just stares at the water. The sun is almost gone now, hidden behind the dominating gray clouds.

Tetsurou is still here. He is sitting behind Kenma, legs around him, also dangling over the edge. He is naked, too, and Kenma's eyes are open now. But he tries to turn around and look at Tetsurou and he finds himself only able to look forward. He cannot look back, not even when Tetsurou puts his hands on Kenma's shoulders. He digs his fingers in like a massage, pushing in and up with this thumb, motions somehow erotic. His breathing is gravelly against the back of Kenma's neck. His hair is billowing in the wind and he pictures that it must be tickling Tetsurou's nose. Tetsurou leans his forehead down against the back of Kenma's neck and his fingers begin to slow. He moves them, delicately, around Kenma's neck. If he squeezes, he can choke him—but he does not squeeze. Instead, he hovers. Teasing every goosebump on Kenma's neck. Moving around, up, down, cupping his Adam's apple in his palm. Kenma arches his neck back, so that Tetsurou can touch him more, and stares up at the clouds.

I'm going to count every vertebrae, Tetsurou says, and puts his lips to the ridges of Kenma's spine. One, here...traces a line with his tongue down. Two. Three. Four—oh, no, did I skip one? Let me start over. He puts the palms of his hand against Kenma's chest and pulls him back, spreads his fingers as far as they can go, as if trying to reach every single corner of the earth from Kenma's chest. Maybe he'll reach. Kenma smiles thinking about it. If anyone can, it's Tetsurou, he thinks.

As his lips continue, his tongue continues, his words slurred and his hair coarse, Kenma feels the wet head of Tetsurou's hard cock brush his lower back. You must want to fuck me, Tetsurou, perhaps just as badly as I want you to fuck me. Keep touching me until it becomes so much that you burst, so much that you lose your sense of self and together we tumble from this cliff down into the waves and there in the water we can fuck each other all we want because who gives a shit, we'll be dead soon enough, locked together at the bottom of the ocean where nobody will find us and tell us that maybe it was a bad idea, maybe we shouldn't have fucked each other, maybe we should've stuck to raising cats and braiding hair and sharing sandwiches that really suck to begin with.

Don't let your tongue leave the confines of your lips, because if they do then the gates of hell will open and suck us in the same way that your tongue sucks the saltiness from my skin. Don't let yourself get away with those kisses, the ones on my forehead at night when I fall asleep and you think you're the only one to know. I'll know, my skin knows. Clench your fingers into tight fists when you feel the urge to reach out and touch me because god knows it would be better to cut your own hand off then touch me like this—like your life depends on it, like you're drawing a path toward the rest of your life traced in my sweat.

god knows it would be better to fall off this cliff

god fucking knows

the cats know, too.

* * *

Kenma woke up with tears in his eyes and the worst erection of his life. There was a blanket draped over his body, one that Tetsurou had undoubtedly put there, and when he reached up to rub his eyes, he realized that the braid Tetsurou had done for him was probably ruined. He wasn't sure what time it was, but after a few moments, Kuroo Jr. hopped up onto the couch and meowed in Kenma's face. She was hungry. Kenma, drowsy and grasping in vain at the fleeting images of his dream, reached up to bury his fingers in her fur. She pushed her head up against his sweating palm. When she grew bored of that, she pawed at his face, and pressed her nose against his cheek. He managed to push her away gently and sit up, and once she was sure that he had woken up, she jumped down from the couch and moved expectantly to the kitchen.

Kenma stood up and moved to give her some extra turkey they had in the fridge. He'd have to get some for Kenma Jr., too. He glanced over his shoulder. The door to Tetsurou's room was still closed, but he could hear sounds coming from inside. Either Tetsurou really was on the phone with someone, probably Koutarou, or he was listening to music. Kenma drove away the desire to go his room and knock. Because then Tetsurou would open the door, ask if he'd had a good nap, notice his boner and awkwardly stumble back into his room because then he'd get one and it would just be an awful, terrible mess. Kenma would have to suppress the urge to say, "Kuro, would you come back and kiss my neck again?"

He'd never wanted anything as desperately as he wanted that.

After he gave the cats their food, he retreated to his room and closed the door, quietly enough that Tetsurou probably wouldn't hear it. He got back into bed and, though he hated himself for doing it, he touched himself because it was painful now. He closed his eyes and he had to think of Tetsurou while he did it. The cats started meowing and pawing at his door so he buried his head into the pillows so that he couldn't hear them, not while he was holding back tears and imagining Tetsurou's hands there instead of his own to relieve himself of his stupid, unfair pain. He came into a tissue and threw it into the trash next to his finished Coke bottles and broken hair ties. Maybe Tetsurou would see it when he came in.

Just then, a knock on the door accompanied the cats' meows. Kenma turned the lights back on and opened the door. Tetsurou leaned against the doorway, arms across his chest, perpetual smile there.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Had a good nap?"

Kenma nodded and hoped his cheeks weren't too red.

"Perfect. Feeling refreshed, then?"

"Not really," Kenma shrugged.

"What do you say we go out for dinner today?"

"What? Why?"

"To get you out of this house. I can redo your hair, and you can put on a pretty dress and do your makeup, and we can go to some fancy ass restaurant and pretend that we're rich and bougie."

Kenma blinked as the cats began to weave between their legs.

"But that'll be expensive," he said quietly.

"That's the point."

"I don't—"

"Listen. Sometimes, I think it's good to just spend a stupid amount of money on something, just for the hell of it. We can order the most expensive damn things on the menu, get an entire bottle of wine just for the two of us and get so drunk that everyone at the restaurant stares _daggers_ at us. Wouldn't that be a hoot?"

"We have stuff in the fridge. We can just cook dinner."

"Aw, c'mon, Kenma. Don't be like that. We'll cook tomorrow, all right? But this place feels too stuffy to me tonight."

He was still smiling down at Kenma. Hair falling across his face, determined flash in his deceivingly blank eyes. It wasn't fair that he was so much taller than Kenma.

"I don't have a lot of money," Kenma persisted.

"I do. At least for tonight," Tetsurou winked. "Listen, what's the most expensive thing you own?"

"That red dress with the rhinestones."

"Wear it."

"I've never worn it. I don't even have shoes to match."

"Wear your high tops."

"You want me to wear my Converse with that dress?"

"Good, it's decided. I'm gonna wear a full suit."

"Kuro, why...?"

Kenma's voice trailed off. He knew what Tetsurou's answer would be. "Do I need a reason to take my best friend out to dinner?" He knew exactly why Tetsurou was doing this. Because he pitied Kenma, and wanted to do what he could to help Kenma, and felt deep in his soul that having Kenma put on his most expensive dress and go out to impress people would be a good way to cheer him up.

And he wasn't wrong.

Kenma had been wanting an excuse to wear that dress.

"Okay. I'll go with you, but only if you have a matching tie," Kenma said.

"Awesome! I already made reservations."

"Right..."

Tetsurou grinned that grin and reach down and ruffled Kenma's already messy hair.

"Come on. Let me braid your hair again."

"A braid? Are you serious? No, you have to do something more formal than that."

"Oh, fuck, you're right. Ooh, how about a low chignon?"

"Do you know how to do that?"

"Who do you think you're talking to? Just bring me like a million bobby pins."

Kenma, holding back his smile, went into his bathroom to get the bobby pins.

Tetsurou didn't have a reason to know how to do a chignon. And yet Kenma trusted that he could.

He was glad that the sandwich hadn't filled his stomach. He wanted to run Tetsurou's wallet dry because then he'd know that Tetsurou spent that money on him, and maybe in some disturbing and twisted way, that might make up for the fact that Tetsurou wouldn't touch him anymore or look at him like he was the most beautiful person in the world—like he had before—ever again.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

 **Kuroo**

After dinner, walking up the stairs to their apartment, Tetsurou let Kenma walk ahead of him, and it was a mistake. He'd known that it would be, but Kenma was a real lightweight and was awfully tipsy from just two glasses of wine. Tetsurou had had to hold his arm to walk him back to the car, so it was only natural for him to insist that Kenma go up in front.

And still, it wasn't fair. This was cruel—Tetsurou was being cruel to himself. Of course, with things the way they were, there were very few situations in which Tetsurou from that moment on wouldn't be participating in inevitable masochism and self-deprivation. He would have to get used to this agony, would have to continue with this expert poker face that Kenma had so easily believed. (Or had he? Tetsurou wasn't really sure.) But would that mean that, for every day for the rest of his life, Tetsurou would have to suffer the pain of Kenma's beauty? Would have to walk up the stairs behind him, watching him step, step, step—watching the little strands of hair falling from the bobby pins on the back of his head, watching the way his slouched shoulders rippled, watching his feet and his calves tighten—all from behind? Unable to reach out and touch?

It was so unbearably cruel.

But Tetsurou had decided something. When he'd gone out to the living room, to grab a bowl of cereal from the kitchen, and he'd seen Kenma asleep on the couch. Kenma had looked innocent. Unfairly so, no tension in his face and strands of hair framing his closed eyes. His face crushed against the couch while he held a blanket to his chest and the cats were curled at his feet. It was clear, then, that Kenma hadn't slept at all the night before. It wasn't uncommon, Tetsurou had tried to reason, for Kenma not to sleep.

He couldn't shake the feeling that it was because of him.

So he had decided, choking on the air because of how fucking beautiful Kenma was, that he would need to forever push back the emotions that he'd let come out that night, when they had jumped into the abyss together. If Kenma was to get better, if Kenma was to find himself and stop being nervous, scared, awkward around the one person who had always been there to support him, Tetsurou would need to sacrifice the possibility of really, truly being with him. It was clear. Especially after the way Kenma had reacted—the way he'd flinched, how quiet and fleeting and evasive. He was in pain. And Tetsurou couldn't stand it. He would have to pretend, really. Would have to pretend that making love to Kenma had meant nothing to him, would have to pretend that he wasn't falling deeper every second, would have to pretend to be strong because Kenma didn't have that luxury. He couldn't pretend. He would keep crying himself to sleep, torn by something he couldn't really decide whether he wanted.

Tetsurou would just have to decide for him.

Things had to go back to the way they used to be.

It was the best solution—if he could pretend, then it would be easier for Kenma.

So he bit his lower lip as his eyes pressed into Kenma's back. He was a bit more sober. Hand on the rail as he struggled up the stairs. Red dress falling over his frame, falling at his ankles above his black, worn-out Converse shoes. Tetsurou reached his fingers out, and his fingers brushed the edge of Kenma's dress. Just for a moment, a single fleeting second when the fabric was smooth and delicate in his grimy fingers. It made him feel so strangely intimate, even though Kenma had no idea. Maybe that was where the intimacy came from, in the end.

They got the door of their apartment and Tetsurou realized that he was running a bit late. Kei would be arriving to open the bar soon, and Tetsurou still needed to make sure Kenma was okay. He wasn't worried, though. He was already sobering up. Or so he had to tell himself, when he came to the conclusion that Kenma was a big boy and could take care of himself; Tetsurou was coming up with excuses to spend more time around him. Being aware of it made it that much worse.

Kenma started taking his dress off as soon as he walked into the door, before he even untied his shoes. He gracefully lifted it up over his head and tossed it to the ground, leaving himself naked but for his briefs, socks, and shoes. Tetsurou couldn't tear his eyes from the vast canvas of his back, but when Kenma turned over his shoulder and began taking the bobby pins out of his hair, he tore his gaze away.

"Dinner was nice, Kuro," he said, his words slightly elongated. "Do you have to go down to the bar now?"

"Yeah. Kei will be here soon to open up."

"Okay."

"Gonna work on that game?"

"Yes. Will you bring me a Coke?"

"Of course."

"Maybe when you get back I can paint your nails," Kenma said. "Black, of course. You always look so good in black."

He wasn't smiling, but there was a glisten in his eyes. Tetsurou blinked at him, hair falling around his face and cheeks red and beautiful golden eyes that lit up the whole room. Then he smiled, winked.

"You bet."

Once he'd changed and Kenma was back in his room, swaying as he sat and fiddled with the keys of his dim computer, he bid him and the cats a farewell and began to make his way down to the bar. But before he went down the stairs, he took a moment to stand on his doorstep and breathe. Closed his eyes, leaned back. Rocked ever so slightly. Wished that he had the courage to bang his head back against the door hard enough to hurt, maybe even hard enough to draw blood. That pain would've been better than this one.

He was letting Kenma go, and he knew it was going to kill him, and he didn't have a choice but to slowly dig his own grave. The same one he'd already been digging.

Tetsurou gathered his strength and plastered a smile on his face and went down to his bar. By the time he got down, Kei was already there, bringing the chairs down from the tables and getting ready to open. He glanced up at Tetsurou, gaze hovering above his glasses, and blinked slowly.

"And the queen has arrived," he sighed. "Now, the real question: will she help me open the bar?"

"Do I pay you to work, or throw shade?"

"Both, though you'll have to start paying me overtime for the shade. It's taken a lot of effort lately."

"Oh, step off."

They made small talk while they cleaned. Kei and Tetsurou were friends, surely—at least, Tetsurou would define their relationship as a friendly one. He wasn't sure about Kei. Kei was, in a weird way, both a complete enigma and a completely open-book. Tetsurou had seen his type before, a pained and complex inner being behind a façade of sarcasm and cynicism. He was good at dealing with his type. He gave Kei his space, threw him subtle smiles and winks and words of affirmation, but he teased him and pushed his buttons. Just enough that he wasn't uncomfortable, but was eager to interact. Kei was a good kid. Tetsurou at least knew that much.

Tetsurou managed to squeeze out of Kei that he was having a few problems with his boyfriend—someone with whom he was in a very serious relationship, and had been for about five years now. They were committed to each other, Kei said, but just like any couple, they had their issues. Tetsurou didn't press the issue. He let Kei talk about it as much as he wanted. But it was clear, by the way he left smears on the tables and the chairs were crooked, that Kei was bent up about it.

"We haven't talked in three days," he mumbled, flipping the closed sign over to open. "He's too upset to say anything to me, I think, and I've just got too much damn pride."

"So, suck it up and say you're sorry."

"But I didn't do anything wrong."

"Irrelevant."

"Oh, like an old single asshole like you would know," Kei said with a roll of his eyes. Tetsurou smiled and shrugged, unable to argue. Totally unable to argue. He couldn't keep his gaze from flitting up toward the ceiling, where Kenma was working. Kei was observant, too.

"How's your roommate situation?" he asked. Tetsurou blinked back to reality, paused for a moment, and then shrugged and started organizing cups along the bar.

"Fine. He has a deadline coming up so he's working like crazy," Tetsurou said. "Wish I could get him down to the bar every once in a while."

"Eh, I don't blame him for not coming down. What with assholes like those guys we saw the other day. Honestly, I wish I had enough nerve to stay up in my room like him. The world doesn't deserve my fucking attention."

Tetsurou raised his eyebrows, but Kei wasn't paying attention. The first few customers had come in through the door and he was checking their IDs. So Tetsurou tried his hardest to push Kenma from his thoughts (or at least give himself the semblance of distraction) and focus on his customers.

It was, in the end, a surprisingly long evening. Tetsurou ended up running upstairs with a Coke, finding Kenma exactly how he expected him—curled in front of his computer, at that point desperate for some kind of sugary, carbonated beverage. They were very busy that night. Tetsurou wished that he'd hired a few more people but, of course, was satisfied because Kei was a ridiculously competent and efficient worker. And, though customers sometimes tended not to like him due to his stand-offish and sarcastic personality, he brought a nice vibe to the place. At least, Tetsurou thought so. His refined posture and shimmering glasses and always-present-headphones brought something different to this place of darkness and drunkenness and sex and raw lack of inhibitions. He was always glad he'd hired Kei.

Together, after the last few people had been sent home, Kei and Tetsurou cleaned up.

"If your boyfriend is waiting for you, just head home, Tsukki," Tetsurou said. "I can handle it."

"No. You're paying me to do my job, so I'm gonna do it," Kei replied smoothly.

"Well, all right. While you're at it, take these bottles to the back, would ya?"

He put a few empty bottles on the counter. Kei, without so much as a bat of his eyelashes, whisked them from the counter and headed to the backroom. There, they stored all their empty bottles and took them down at the end of the week to the recycling place. As Kei disappeared to the back, Tetsurou continued cleaning. There had been no altercations or especially bad drunk episodes that night, so the cleaning wasn't too bad. He would be sleeping in tomorrow, of course, but he never minded staying up a few more hours at night.

But he wasn't working with a smile that night. He couldn't get this burden off his back. Now he was carrying Kenma's, too. But that was all right. His shoulders were stronger than Kenma's. He could afford to carry the world on his back, a world that would've broken Kenma. But it was heavy. Tetsurou liked to smile while he worked, because it helped him get through it—at that moment, thinking of the person having trouble sleeping above him, he couldn't do it. Not even a hint of a smile.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of glass shattering. He dropped what he was doing and bolted, coming to a screeching halt at the doorway of what they called Alcohol Purgatory. Kei stood in the center of the room, surrounded by broken pieces of glass and blood on his hands.

"Oh, Tsukki," Tetsurou sighed.

"S-sorry, Kuroo..."

"No, no, don't you dare apologize. I'll be right back. Don't move, all right?"

"Actually, I was planning on doing a little dance, but now that you ask—"

Tetsurou hurried back to the bar, where he kept a first aid kit. He grabbed it, along with a broom and a few trash bags, and ran to take care of things.

"What happened?" Tetsurou asked. He started with clearing away the broken glass, gathering it in the trash bags and setting it off to the side. He would have to vacuum tomorrow morning.

"They—they just slipped," Kei stuttered.

"Yeah?" Tetsurou paused. "Tsukki, you've been working here for a while now. You're not the kinda guy to let shit slip."

"Okay, well, it happened. What do you want from me?"

"I think you're more upset than you're letting on."

"So? Then I'm upset. I'll deal with it and it'll be fine."

"Is it Yamaguchi?"

Kei didn't respond. Tetsurou leaned the broom against the doorway and reached for the first aid kit. He pulled out some rubbing alcohol and gauze. He stood up, a few inches shorter than Kei, and reached his hands out. Without looking into his eyes, Kei put his hands in Tetsurou's. They were trembling.

"Listen. I don't know what a couple like you would fight about, but if it's got you this upset, you should do something about it. You've been together a long time. Would be a shame to let it end."

"It's not going to end," Kei hissed. "It's just...sometimes I feel like we're too different. Like there's no real reason to be together."

"Sorry, this is gonna sting a little." Tetsurou began dabbing the cuts and cleaning Kei's wound with the rubbing alcohol. Kei sucked in a breath, face scrunching and eyes narrowing. "I'm not too familiar with the dynamics of your relationship with Yamaguchi, but I do think you love him, and that's enough of a reason to be together."

"What if I'm hurting him too much? He's too nice to be with someone like me."

"Hey, you're plenty nice."

Kei just raised an eyebrow, and Tetsurou smiled and held back his laughter.

"Fine, maybe you're not, but that doesn't mean you're not a good person or that you're not good for him. He's probably great for you."

"Then it's not balanced."

"I never said that."

"Why am I even asking you? Like you know what you're talking about," Kei mumbled with a click of his tongue.

"Believe it or not, I've had my fair share of romantic endeavors," Tetsurou said with a wink. Kei couldn't hold it in, and laughed out loud.

"Please! Like you could hold down _any_ type of relationship," he leered. Tetsurou just smiled. He was wrapping the gauze around Kei's hands now. His fingers moved slowly, pushing gently on Kei's skin.

"Besides. It's obvious," Kei continued.

"What's obvious?"

"You're in love with your roommate."

Tetsurou didn't say anything. He kept his eyes on Kei's hands and suddenly the room felt very hot. Alcohol Purgatory had terrible lighting.

"You're always looking up there. And he always comes up in your conversations. How long have you two been friends?"

"A while."

"Right. Well, I'm pretty observant, but I doubt I'm the only one that knows."

"You're probably right."

"Don't bother. Love isn't worth it."

"That's not true. If you really thought that, you wouldn't still be with Yamaguchi."

"Or, I _do_ think that, and I'm just in too deep to do anything about now."

"How deep?"

"Deep."

"Bummer. Single life is it, man."

The lie was written in the air as it left his lips. There was no point in lying to Kei anyway, and they both knew it. But now they were stuck here together, woeful and somber in this room of empty wine bottles and the stench of old alcohol. Kei's hands still trembled in Tetsurou's.

"Has Yamaguchi ever cheated on you?" Tetsurou said, without thinking.

"What? No."

"Have you ever cheated on him?"

"N...no."

"He trusts you."

"I don't know. I would hope so."

"Do you think he'd still love you if you fucked someone else?"

"Tadashi? Probably. He's a sucker like that."

"A sucker? Interesting word choice."

"Why, what word would you have used?"

"Something not so derogatory. It's a good trait to love someone that much, to see the goodness in people."

"A trait I don't have. I only see the shitty."

"So you wouldn't love him anymore if he fucked someone else?"

Tetsurou looked up into Kei's eyes. His eyelids were drooping. They were much closer than Tetsurou thought—this room was suddenly so small. The walls closing in on them.

"I don't know. I probably still would."

"You really do love him."

"Yes."

"Just like I love Kenma."

"Yeah."

"Have you ever wanted to fuck anybody else?"

"No. But I have wanted to not be in love with him."

"That would make things a lot easier, huh."

"Yeah. Sometimes I lay awake at night and I think of ways that I could make him not love me, so that he would break it off and not have to deal with me anymore. God knows I'm not brave enough to break it off."

"That's pretty fucked up, Tsukki."

"Like you're one to talk about fucked up. Bottling everything up and acting all creepy with Kozume."

"Right, like I could ever tell him that I loved him."

"And like I could ever get Tadashi to hate me."

"Nothing would make him hate you? Absolutely nothing?" Tetsurou smiled and leaned

closer.

"Maybe if I were a serial killer. Even that's a stretch, though," Kei grinned.

"Seems like a great guy."

"Way too good for me."

"That's how I feel about Kenma sometimes."

"Guess we're both just pieces of shit, huh?" Kei murmured.

"Guess we are."

And then they clambered for each other, and they fucked among those empty, floating bottles, wondering just how much love they had inside them.


End file.
